Page 318 of These Tears

Breath in.

Her boots strike the earth in a rapid, uneven rhythm.

Breath out.

The forest narrows into flashes of yellow leaves, black trunks and the scarf flickering behind her.

I close half the distance before she reaches the birches. I know she can hear it. She veers right and ducks beneath a low branch. I shoulder through it and it splinters. Wet leaves strike my face, but it barely registers.

Five metres.

Four.

Her breath.

Mine.

Her heartbeat.

Mine.

Her mouth opens on a breathless laugh and I surge forward.

My fingers close around the fabric hanging from her pocket.

She jerks back, but the scarf pulls free before it can drag her off balance. She stumbles two steps, recovers and lunges forward again.

Not fast enough.

I wind the scarf around my fist and reach her before she clears the next tree.

One of my arms closes around her waist, her body strikes mine hard enough to force a grunt from my chest. She fights me exactly the way she knows I like, twisting in my hold without reaching for the yarn.

I turn with the momentum and drive her carefully towards the fallen pine beside us, taking her down with me. The trunk lies half raised from the ground, one thick branch reaching upwards at an angle where the tree tore free.

She twists again.

‘Elias—’

My name breaks into breath when I catch both her wrists.

I gather her arms in one hand, bring them over her head and press them against the bark. The scarf secures her against the branch.

Once, I’d been taught to do this without asking myself what it would mean for her.

Now her eyes tell me the truth. And the want in my core hardens into something merciless.

Words desert me as I wrench her layers aside and drag my own zip down.

Breath drains from me sharply as I find her hot and ready for me.

The last shred of sense catches me and I pull myself free, hands shaking twice with the effort of separating this moment from every touch ever forced upon me.

I stop.

Leah looks up at me, her fists unclenching and one of them grazing my knuckle.

‘It’s okay.’